


A Brief Intermission

by paragraph (ebcdic)



Category: Canadian Music RPF, Nickelback (Band), Supernatural
Genre: Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Guns, Harvelle's Roadhouse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jealous Dean, M/M, One Night Stands, Overprotective Dean, Showers, Smoking, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebcdic/pseuds/paragraph
Summary: "Or I could just take you back to my hotel and…" Chad waits until he's got Sam's full attention before licking his lips. "Clean your wounds for you."





	A Brief Intermission

It was difficult most days for Chad to blend in with a crowd, but here he knew that unless you were some '80s metal icon or Brian Dennehy, odds were, no one would give you a second glance. Chad needed that kind of oblivious anonymousness these days. One too many arrests; one too many cracks in his carefully constructed façade. He needed to get back to his roots. Places like this dark bar in northern Minnesota that were populated only by the same faces it had seen for probably the past ten years and kegs of cheap beer on tap. So he sat at the end of the bar and chain-smoked in-between sips of rapidly warming beer, feeding tips to the blonde behind the bar in exchange for the ability to nurse his drink in peace. Metallica is playing on the old jukebox and the whole scene reminds him of Hanna back in the day. 

Hanna, where Ryan had retreated to after Chad's latest arrest. Shit, though, Chad didn't want to think about that. Ryan had been his rock; the balancing factor in his life, but after this latest incident, Ryan took all of that back. Maybe for good. 

The jukebox is switching to the next song when the door to the bar swings open, bringing in a blast of cold air along with the owner of the hand that pushes it open. Chad's heart stops the second the stranger steps further in the door, into the light. It's as thought he's been transported back in time. Teenage Ryan's come to haul him out of some bar on orders from Mike, only he's grown taller and his hair is longer. Except that Ryan's face was never bloody when he showed up, only after, usually because of some bar fight Chad had dragged him into. Chad blinks and the kid comes into real focus. No, not some specter of the past, but some frantic kid with a low voice, smooth like honey, only his gestures betraying his nervousness as he talks to the bartender. Out of habit, Chad listens in to the conversation, picking up clues to the stranger's life. At the end of it, he catches the kid's name: Sam. Chad files away everything he's heard in case it comes in handy later and let's his eyes drift down Sam's body as he leans against the bar with a sigh, opening his cell to check for something before snapping it shut with a soft mutter that Chad just barely hears.

"Where are you, Dean?"

The question fairly reeks with mixed emotions. It's a tone of voice that Chad recognizes well; he's heard it plenty of times coming out of Mike's mouth. Exasperation mixed with fondness, annoyance mixed with worry, love mixed with… Well, Chad isn't about to go there tonight. Instead, he watches Sam fiddle with the cell phone. Watches Sam watch the others in the bar. They seem to know him, that's the vibe Chad gets anyway, but no one offers to buy him a drink. Not a single soul seems to care that the young man is standing there, bleeding and hurt. Chad doesn't often find the urge to comfort others, especially strangers, but there's something about this kid that has Chad switching to the barstool closest to him. He watches as Sam's back tenses as he moves closer. Sam seems to be just as aware of his surroundings as Chad himself. Yet, Sam doesn't look like the spent-some-time-in-juvi type. He's still got too much vulnerability on him. Chad can smell it in the air, faint, like the coppery scent of drying blood on the kid's face.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Sam's head whips toward him and he's got this half-deer-in-headlights look coupled with a scowl. It makes him look like a kicked puppy. It's all Chad can do to hold back a grin.

"Looks like you could use one."

Subtle nod toward the darkening bruise on Sam's chin that's become visible as he leans in slightly, invading Chad's space. Old Alpha Dog game, but Chad isn't taking the bait. He reaches up with one finger and ghosts it over a trail of blood running from Sam's forehead down the side of his face. Sam's eyes drift close and his breathing becomes slightly irregular. Chad's eyes spark with lust and his voice shifts down a few gears.

"Or I could just take you back to my hotel and…" Chad waits until he's got Sam's full attention before licking his lips. "Clean your wounds for you."

The heat that rises in Sam's face would almost be endearing except that Chad is sure it's faked. He leans in and ghosts his lips against the kid's neck, dropping his spare room key into his palm in the process. 

"Bunyan Lodge. Room 201." 

Without a glance back, Chad slides away, out the door and into the parking lot. He waits a beat, digging into his coat pocket for the keys to his rental SUV and isn't entirely surprised to find Sam standing three paces behind him when he unlocks the doors with a press of a button. 

"Mind if I get a ride?"

Chad glances at Sam out of the corner of his eye and fights back a triumphant grin.

"Not at all."

**

The ride to the hotel is done in silence. It's not companionable, but it's not uncomfortable either. More like anticipatory. So Chad lets Cheap Trick fill the space between them and resists the urge to sing along. That, more than anything, would give him away as someone special. Chad doesn't want to be special tonight. He wants to be some ordinary guy picking up some other ordinary guy in a bar. Except that Chad gets the feeling that this isn't what this is at all. 

He shakes that off as they both slide out of the now parked SUV and head to room 201. Once the door is shut behind them, Sam is all over Chad with a hunger that's unexpected, but welcome. Chad lets Sam take the lead and doesn't even mind when his $200 shirt gets ripped in the process. Suddenly, Sam is a lot more overwhelming than he seemed in the bar. When Sam growls down at him before leaning in to nip at his neck, Chad is reminded that Sam is one of the few people he's ever met who isn't a professional athlete that towers over him. It turns Chad on to think that this kid could knock him down a peg or two.

"Fuck me, baby."

The endearment is added as an afterthought. Either it'll piss the kid off and make things real interesting, or it'll just sail right on by. The low growl against Chad's throat, followed by the sensation of being shoved onto the bed tells Chad it's the former he'll be dealing with tonight.

"I'm not anyone's baby."

The hard nip at Chad's ear tells him that Sam means it. The look in Sam's eyes when he lifts his head to meet Chad's tells a slightly different story. There's something there. Something familiar, but Chad can't put his finger on it. His eyes slip half-closed as he studies Sam's face, while his fingers dance toward Sam's belt buckle.

"C'mon, darlin'…"

Chad puts every ounce of prairie slur and charm into those two words that he possesses. Before he can blink, he's on his stomach, and his pants are being ripped down off his hips. It's elementary after that. 

Pure, primal hunger between the two of them. No strings.

**

Or at least it should be that way. Hours later, Sam is still there. Sitting up against the headboard while Chad languidly smokes a cigarette with his head propped up on Sam's ankles. A few questions flit through Chad's head, but he dismisses them in turn before finally coming out with one suitably neutral considering the circumstances.

"Who's Dean?"

Sam looks away toward the window. "My brother."

And doesn't that just about say it all, Chad thinks. He sits up and puts out the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, leaning over Sam as he does. The light touch of Sam's fingers against his shoulder, right where Sam bit him hard enough to bleed, brings out some tender emotion in Chad that he isn't quite prepared to deal with.

"Let's get you cleaned up, babydoll." 

There's more rough emotion in those words and his voice than Chad normally likes to hear from himself. He slides out of the bed and holds out his hand to cover up the swell of something foreign in his heart. Sam gives him a half-smile and lets him lead them into the bathroom. Water and cheap hotel soap is all there is to clean up the blood, sweat and semen. They barely fit in the shower together, which is perhaps why Chad ends up on his knees, sucking the kid's cock for all he's worth. 

That's about the time the shower curtain is roughly drawn back, putting Chad at eye level with a gun holster. His eyes travel upward as he lets Sam's cock slip out of his mouth to meet the barrel of said gun. 

"May I help you?"

Sam's eyes snap open, meet the stranger's, and he growls. "What the fuck are you doing, Dean? Get out."

The gun, thankfully, drops. But not Sam's erection. Chad's eyes volley between the two as a rapid-fire conversation ensues.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"The hell you aren't."

"I didn't let you win that fight just so you could get laid."

"I'm--"

"And with that dude from Nickelback? I thought you had more taste than that. I mean, if you're going to fuck a rock star, why can't it at least be James Hetfield or something?"

"What?"

Sam's eyes whip toward Chad and then back at Dean. Chad stands up in one, smooth motion and glares down at Dean. The gun doesn't scare him. Neither does Dean. He may be built, but he's got the air of a jokester about him. Kind of like Daniel. Probably wouldn't hurt a fucking fly if it bit him. Except that gun says otherwise. This whole damned situation says otherwise. 

Dean rolls his eyes at Chad. Something in Dean's eyes as he flicks them toward Sam makes Chad smirk.

"He's all yours, Dean." 

Chad is sure to put an odd, breathy emphasis on the words. He's surprised when Dean's head jerks toward him like a deer caught in headlights. Involuntarily, Chad's smirk deepens.

"Or, we could share."

It's more suggestion than question. The heat rising in Dean's face tells Chad everything he wants to know about this situation.

"Dean…"

The plaintive, suddenly Beta Dog tone to Sam's voice isn't all together surprising, but Chad finds himself raising his eyebrows anyway. Dean throws up his hands, gun rising in the air and stomps out of the bathroom.

"Just get dressed. We have work to do."

It's only when Dean's out of view, does Chad catch Sam's eye roll. Like whiplash, Sam is back in Alpha mode. He grabs Chad by the back of the neck and hauls him close for a searing kiss. 

"Finish your shower." Sam himself is out of the shower before Chad can protest. He looks at Chad over his shoulder as he quickly dries himself off. "And I'll finish you later."

Chad grins at that and slides the shower curtain shut.

**

Over the roar of the water, Chad can't quite make out what's being said between Sam and Dean. Based on his own experiences, he can pretty well guess, however. By the time Chad has cleaned up and dried off, the hotel room appears to be empty. Figuring his little exploration of Sam and Dean is over with, Chad starts getting dressed. He's only got his boxers on when he feels the cold press of a gun to his back. It's a sensation that he shouldn't be familiar with, but is anyway. 

"Didn't know you were into that kind of kinky--"

"I'm not."

Dean's voice cuts him off and Chad shifts slightly, angling his body so he can see the two of them in the mirror over the scarred dresser. He studies Dean; everything from his posture to the blaze of fury in his eyes. As Chad contemplates what that fury is for and dismisses several possibilities along the way, Dean breathes heavy into his ear. Finally, figuring he's not likely to get shot, Chad turns to face him.

"Yes?"

The sound Dean makes is nearly a snort. "No."

Chad's face breaks out into a grin. "Maybe so?"

This time, Dean does snort. "Fucking asshole."

Chad lifts one eyebrow. "Precisely."

The not so subtle reference to his sexual activity with Dean's brother causes Dean's eyes to narrow. Chad merely grins and steps into Dean's personal space.

"Jealous?"

"Hardly." But the dismissive tone that should be there isn't quite present.

"Because you would've rather fucked me, or because you would've rather fucked--"

The gun comes up lightening fast against Chad's temple. Nearly at the same time they speak:

"Your brother?"  
"What demon are you?"

The question throws Chad off-guard for a moment. Not so much the word used, but the phrasing gets to him. As though Dean is really expecting a real answer to that question; as though Chad really is a demon.

"Your regular, garden-variety human-type, I'm afraid." Chad tilts his head toward the gun. "Expecting something else?"

Dean frowns and drops the gun. "Just leave Sammy alone."

Chad fights back a nasty grin at the obvious use of some kind of childhood nickname. Instead, he nods seriously. "But of course."

Warily, Dean backs toward the door, gun still trained on Chad. When the door finally shuts, Chad has half a mind to go after the brothers and see what the hell that demon business is all about. It had to be a hell of a lot more entertaining than sitting in some cheap hotel room, wondering about Ryan. But instead, Chad finds himself picking up his cell phone and dialing Ryan's number.

"I'm coming home."

**


End file.
